Irish Moon by Amber Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

Finn sensed it, as well. He took as much care as she
in keeping all movement quiet and delicate. After a fast search,
she went through each room again, trying to pinpoint evidence to
support her increasing worry. She came to a stop. Cool air brushed
in at the open door on her. She frowned at Finn. He hadn’t joined
her on the second turn, sat shaking his head for the twentieth
time.
    “Where do you expect he’s gone to?” she
whispered.
    “Mayhap nowhere. Have you not thought to try
the fourth door?” His voice bounced off the walls.
    “What door?” She turned, scanned and found
it. She couldn’t believe she’d missed it. Leave it to Finn to sit
and watch her muck along, missing the obvious.
    The door was well hidden by shadows and a
long narrow table piled high with books. Seeing that the door was
not so obvious made her feel somewhat better. Breanne cleared the
table, slid it away and tried the knob. It turned easily and she
peeked into the darkness. She needed a candle.
    “What was that?” Finn’s voice was a whisper.
His ears tucked back and he crouched, looking into the night.
    Breanne froze in place, hand an inch from a
candle. The hair on her neck tickled with fear as she watched the
cat slink low and creep to the door. Surely, it was Heremon
returning, she told herself.
    Finn stole into the darkness, forcing Breanne
to choke back the tremble rising in her throat and follow. Her eyes
penetrated the shadowy obscurity, rushing to adjust to the lack of
light. Movement in the grass caught her eye and she followed the
small form that could only be Finn’s.
    By the time he neared the edge, she could
fully see. She wanted to call his name but remained quiet, trying
to calm the thudding blood in her head. The breeze shushed the tall
grass around them, a hiss barely audible above the low roar of
waves so far below them. The sounds concealed her clumsy movements
as she crouched to the ground midway between the cliffs and
cottage.
    Time slipped like fingers drumming a surface.
Breanne’s pulse steadied along with her breathing as she eyed Finn.
She wondered how far down the coast they’d been this afternoon.
Could she have simply walked a spell and found Heremon right there
in the bright of day had she not given in to her temper?
    He was toying with her again. After so many
moments of Finn hunched, hind legs readying over and again, what
else could it be? Breanne sat upright and exhaled in annoyance. Not
that he would hear her, or care. She moved to rise. Then she heard
it. Faint and low, but definite. She heard a grunt. Finn stood
taller and peered down over the lip of rock.
    “Heremon,” Finn said, his voice full of
anguish so sincere it brought Breanne forward.
    She went flat to the ground and belly crawled
to him. They were so high up, her head and vision swam a little
just at the thought of what lay below.
    “Oh no,” she gasped, feeling the same anguish
she’d heard. “Heremon. Can you hear me? Heremon?” The Druid’s
figure didn’t move. “Heremon,” Breanne called again, using her
hands to cup the sound and help push it down and out toward the
man. The rocky, moss covered spot he lay on looked impossible to
reach. How in the son of the lord’s name did the old man get
there?
    “Can you get to him?”
    Finn paced, testing the rocky edge, but
couldn’t seem to find a suitable angle. Then in a streak of fur the
cat bounded down and landed a breath away from Heremon’s limp arm.
Breanne put her hands over her eyes, then down to her mouth. The
moaning sound came again.
    She glanced toward it, the left, saw nothing
and returned her attention to Finn and her teacher. “Is he
breathing? Oh, what have I done? I knew. I knew and I stood there
rather than trust myself as he’s always telling me and now he’s
hurt.” She scooted closer. “Is he breathing?” she called
louder.
    Finn flashed her a look of panicked anger and
sniffed Heremon. The slope he lay on became more clear as Finn
tried to